


Wash Racks

by GreyLiliy



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Fluff, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2020-10-14 06:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20596286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLiliy/pseuds/GreyLiliy
Summary: Tailgate spends quality time in the wash racks with Cyclonus.





	Wash Racks

**Author's Note:**

> [First posted to Tumblr on July 23, 2013 as “Drabble #24 - Tailgate/Cyclonus.” Crossposted to Archive of Our Own on September 10, 2019. Only the work itself has been posted.]
> 
> Written as a Request.

Cyclonus was steadier than a rock. He was a tall demanding presence, that commanded respect without so much of a cycle of air through his intakes. Ever calm. Silent. Eloquent when he deemed words necessary.

And if you asked Tailgate, he had a lovely singing voice.

He was also disgustingly self-sufficient, and rejected all of Tailgate’s advances of company, or help with anything. No, he didn’t need help organizing his two or three belongings. No, he didn’t want to go to movie night. No, stop following me to the bar, Tailgate. No, I don’t want to listen to a story. No, I’m not telling you that story again. No, no, no, would you please go bother someone else, Tailgate?

The minibot was starting to think he annoyed Cyclonus.

However it went, Tailgate was running out of ideas to justify spending time with Cyclonus–which he did. Desperately. Cyclonus was wonderful, and Tailgate loved being around the silent, brooding mech. Now if only he knew how to make his panicky, talkative self appealing to him, too.

The tiny white and blue minibot pushed into the wash racks, his tiny scrub brush in hand. If there was one benefit to being on the Lost Light, it was the cleaning facilities. They made his little corner and nozzle spray he had as a Waste Disposal bot look like a bucket of water. This was so much better. Ultra Magnus had at some point made sure the Lost Light Wash Racks were fully stocked with cleansing solutions, brushes, high powered nozzles, and plenty of polishing clothes.

Tailgate felt like he lived in The Towers.

The room looked empty when he closed the door behind him, much to his relief, but Tailgate caught a flash of purple in the corner. The minibot gripped his brush between his fingers and tapped forward, one step at a time.

Cyclonus stood in the corner in a station, tall and proud as always. He had a large scrub brush in hand, and was cleansing away the dirt and dust that had stuck to his form from their last planet-side trip. Tailgate’s optics were glued to the movement, as suds sloshed down his form in rivulets. There really wasn’t a better looking mech on the ship. Lines, grace, and such a royal color. However, there was one area that looked particularly dry, and Tailgate felt bold. 

In this Wash Rack worth of The Towers, alone with that amazing mech–Tailgate felt bold!

“Cyclonus?” Tailgate asked, inching ever closer. Cyclonus grunted, but didn’t tell Tailgate to leave or shut up. Good signs. The minibot held up his brush and waved it back and forth. “Do you want help washing your back? There’s dirt caked between your wings.”

Cyclonus narrowed his eyes at Tailgate and moved his arm over his shoulder. He scratched the metal there with a sharp claw, and pulled it back to inspect. He scowled at the dirt gathered at the edge of the digit as if it had personally insulted him, and flicked it off with his thumb. He looked down at Tailgate, who once again held up the brush and waved it back and forth. Cyclonus cycled air heavily through his vents, and rolled his optics.

“I suppose,” he said. Cyclonus dropped to his knees, and adjusted until he was sitting on the floor with his back to Tailgate and his legs bent in front. He looked over his shoulder, pinning Tailgate with a reserved look. “Don’t miss anything, if you must.”

The situation slammed into Tailgate harder than Brainstorm tackling Perceptor. Cyclonus was there and waiting. Wet. With suds. He had permission. Tailgate was going to get to touch Cyclonus. All over. His wings. On his back.

The minibot’s boldness ran away from Tailgate faster than Swerve ran from Ultra Magnus when the Enforcer discovered the bar the first time. Only there was no Rodimus to rescue him.

“Are you going to do it or not?” Cyclonus growled, hands gripping tightly to his knees. He hunched over and almost looked–embarrassed? Well that was different. Tailgate’s optics lit up. It was…sort of cute. Cyclonus snarled, “Well!?”

“Coming!" 

Tailgate scurried over, and reached for the bottle of open cleansing solution. He squeezed a dollop of it on the brush, and used the spray nozzle to wet Cyclonus’ back. Tailgate prayed thanks to Primus and the rest of the Guided Hand and even Unicron for this moment. He pressed the brush to the cracked and aged metal of Cyclonus’ back and scrubbed. Tailgate nearly shoved his face into the purple metal, just to feel it as he scrubbed away the dirt and the grime. This was better than a stay at the Towers. This was perfection.

Tailgate pressed a hand on Cyclonus’ wing to brace himself as he turned and tried to scrub in each nook and cranny. Tailgate’s fingertips burned with each slick touch on the wet metal. Cyclonus was on fire, or maybe it was just Tailgate. Either way, his hand braced, touching that warm exterior, and scrubbing it until Tailgate was satisfied and had memorized this moment for replay over and over again.

The moment was over too fast, though. Tailgate cherished those few touches all the same. Who knew when he’d get another chance?

"All done,” Tailgate said, rinsing off the suds. He held it over Cyclonus’ shoulder to get his front half as well. After the suds were washed, Tailgate stood back and put his hands on hips. He admired the regal finish and the gleam, and declared it a job well done, if you asked him. Cyclonus was gorgeous, and Tailgate was so lucky! He nearly squeaked. “You’re all clean!”

Tailgate gathered his brush and his things quickly, hoping to escape before Cyclonus noticed just how much Tailgate had enjoyed that. Then it’d be his turn to be embarrassed, and he already did that enough around Cyclonus!

“Tailgate.”

“Yes, Cyclonus?” The little minibot asked, wringing his brush between his hands. Cyclonus was glaring at him. His eyes narrowed, and a scowl on his face. Oh. Oh, that wasn’t good. Maybe he had noticed! Was he mad? Tailgate whimpered. “Did you need something?”

Cyclonus held up his claw, and made a ‘come hither’ motion with his index finger. Tailgate shuffled over, his air cycling heavily through his vents. He felt a panic. Cyclonus grabbed him by the arm and yanked until Tailgate stumbled over his legs–and ended up seated in front of Cyclonus. The larger mech had his hands on his waist, and pushed Tailgate around until he was snug in the nest of purple thighs.

“How does such a tiny thing collect so much dirt?” Cyclonus asked, dragging a nail down one of Tailgate’s shoulders. The gentle touch nearly fried his circuitry.

Cyclonus sprayed the minibot with water, and he heard the bottle of cleanser pop open. Seconds later, Tailgate felt a brush massage his back, and shivered in joy. This was so much better. So much better than everything. “Just a talent, I guess.”

“Stop squirming or I’ll never get you clean,” Cyclonus growled, though Tailgate heard the silver of affection under the gruff voice.

“Yes, sir!” Tailgate sat up straight, and enjoyed the pampering.


End file.
